


Shadows of the Mind

by Hexiva



Category: Legion (TV), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, Canon Character of Color, Canon Disabled Character, Closeted Character, Discussions of past rape/non-con, M/M, Pregnancy, Set pre-XMA, Telepathic Ethics, Telepathic Sex, The Shadow King is David's father, Tragedy, Trans Charles, Trans Male Character, Trans Mpreg, Trans Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 16:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexiva/pseuds/Hexiva
Summary: We know that David Haller is Charles' son. But why did he give him up? And who is the other parent? What if the answer to both those questions was the Shadow King himself?In the 80s, not long before X-Men: Apocalypse, Charles meets an Egyptian telepath who seduces him. Their encounter turns out to have consequences Charles couldn't possibly imagine.





	Shadows of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, some caveats and content notes here. I tagged this fic as "no archive warnings apply" because there is neither onscreen rape nor any discussion of specific instances of rape. However, Farouk does openly discuss the fact that he had committed rape in the past at one point, and shows no remorse.
> 
> Another note, less of a warning than an acknowledgement: this fic depicts a fat, queer character of color as an unapologetic rapist. This is pretty unfortunate. Unfortunately, it's also part of canon; his race may not be explicit in the TV show, or his queerness in the comics, but both are used to villainize him, and his weight is used most of all as a horror element. I understand if that's not a character you want to read about; I have tried, at least, not to other him because of his identity, but I have not otherwise altered the character, so he remains problematic. There's also a queer character in this fic that ISN'T awful and provides an explicit moral counterpart to Amahl, which makes me feel a little better about the whole situation.
> 
> The Shadow King is David's father in this fic. Charles has sex with him. I feel like this fact deserves its own warning.

Charles didn’t go to the bar often these days. He used to, of course, but that was before he was a teacher and a role model for young students - not to mention busier than he was now busier than ever.

But tonight he had a surge of - call it nostalgia, call it a midlife crisis. He drove out into town on his own, to one of the pubs he had frequented as a young man. It had changed in the - he counted back and realized it had been ten years since he had been here. The name was the same - ‘Charlie’s Pub and Grill,’ one that had always amused Raven - but the style of the storefront had changed, and, to Charles’ relief, a wheelchair ramp had been added. Thank god for progress.

He wheeled up the ramp and into the pub, and looked around. It was busy tonight, but he saw no familiar faces. For a moment, he was disappointed, and then he shook it off. Why would he expect this place to have the same crowd of regulars ten years later?

He went up to the side of the crowd, and scowled. It was too tall; the bartender wouldn’t be able to easily see him.

He struggled with his conscience for a moment, and then projected an image of himself into everyone’s minds, standing at the bar, strong and able-bodied. It wasn’t any different than what Raven did, he told himself. There was really no difference between hiding his mutation and hiding his disability. 

Or his sex. 

He ordered a light beer, not particularly wanting to get truly drunk tonight, and his projection leaned against the bar, drinking it.

“I haven’t seen you around here before, have I?” came a voice from next to him. Charles looked over, and saw a fat man, about his age, Middle-Eastern with an Egyptian accent.

Charles gave him a polite smile. “Not for a long time. I’m getting too old for bar-hopping.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” The man smiled. “You can’t be any older than I am.”

“You’re only as old as you feel, unfortunately,” Charles said, wryly. 

“Here’s your drink, handsome,” said the bartender, walking up to set a vodka on the rocks down in front of the fat man, giving him a wink.

Handsome? Charles gave his companion another look. He was not unattractive, to Charles’ eyes - a strong jawline under his weight, thick, soft lips -  and Charles had never considered himself to be prejudiced by a person’s size, but Charles did know that the other man didn’t meet exactly meet the standards of conventional attractiveness. 

Out of idle curiosity, he took a peek into the bartender’s mind. To his surprise, he saw the other man through her eyes: a thin, muscular man, young and handsome, with a shaved head.

He looked over at the man in surprise.

The man smirked. “Why are you so shocked? After all, you’re doing it too.”

“That’s - different,” Charles stammered, but he couldn’t come up with a defense of his actions. 

“Is it?” the man said. He reached out a hand. “Amahl Farouk. It’s always good to meet a kindred spirit.”

Charles shook it. “Charles Xavier,” he said, despite his better judgement. “So you’re - a telepath too?” he asked. A spark of excitement ran through him. He’d never met another telepath, not since that day, long ago, when he’d faced off against Emma Frost. When she died, he’d worried he might never meet one again, that he might be alone in the world.

“I am,” Farouk said, holding Charles’ hand for a little longer than was strictly necessary. “Although I must admit, I’ve never met anyone else with my powers before. It’s a  _ pleasure,  _ truly.” He licked his lips. “Imagine what we could do together.”

And suddenly, Charles  _ was  _ imagining it. He knew what he could do to a headblind partner - the way he could show them whatever they most desired, the way he could take control of their sensations and bring them to new heights of pleasure. With another telepath . . .

Farouk reached out and touched Charles with his mind. Charles could feel his hunger - for sex, for food, for sensation. And he could feel the  _ power  _ behind his mind - like Emma’s, but where Emma was cold, Farouk was hot, burning with desire for anything and everything. In that moment, Farouk knew Charles more than anyone else ever had.

“I can make your wildest dreams come true,” Farouk said, softly. “You’ve done it for other people, I’d wager . . . but has anyone ever done it for you?”

“There are certain things you should be aware of,” Charles said, sipping his beer. He didn’t have to say anything further, and he didn’t bother. Rather, he simply imparted the information directly to Farouk’s mind, a flash of a young boy with developing breasts, growing up in the 50s, assumed a girl by his neglectful and uncaring parents. A lifetime spent hiding, hiding his mutation, hiding his sex, hiding his sexuality. 

Farouk didn’t seem phased. “There are more things on heaven and earth that are dreamt of in the minds of simple humans. I’m a hedonist, Charles. I don’t care if you’re a woman or a man or something in between.”

Charles scowled. “I  _ am  _ a man,” he snapped. “I always have been.”

“I believe you,” Farouk said, taking a swig of his whiskey. “But I don’t care.” He smirked. “My interest is in your mind, not your body.” Somehow, he managed to make this sound dirty. 

Charles swallowed, crossing his arms over his body. He could refuse, of course. And normally he would. Casual sex had always been riskier with men than with women, and hook-ups even with women had become fraught after his injury. 

But . . . why dissemble? Farouk already knew he wanted him. And Charles knew Farouk wanted him. That was the simplicity of telepathy, the simplicity he’d always longed for in his interactions.

“Your place or mine?” Charles asked, setting his drink down.

* * *

 

They went back to Amahl’s hotel room. There, they set each others’ nerves on fire with their minds. They were loud, and it didn’t matter, because no one could hear them if they didn’t want them to. They had the power, and for once, they were equals in that. .

It was physical, too, but that part hardly mattered. It was simply a lesser counterpart to the storm of passion in their minds. 

Afterwards, they slept in the same bed, not out of any shared affection, but because they were both physically and mentally exhausted, sleeping sprawled out over the bed with their clothes still half on. 

“Not bad,” Farouk said in the morning, dressing himself. “It really has been too long since I was with someone I didn’t have to control.”

Charles’ hands froze on the buttons of his shirt. “Someone you - controlled?” Charles turned to Farouk, his eyes cold. “Amahl, are you telling me you’ve used your powers to coerce people into sex? Not merely to hide your appearance, but actually to force them?”

Farouk waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, I wouldn’t call it ‘force.’ They wanted it. Eventually.”

“Amahl!” Charles said, horrified. “You can’t use your powers to - to  _ violate  _ people.”

“Why not?” Farouk said. “Look at these people. They’re so limited, so . . . flat. They can’t see outside their own tiny minds. Even other mutants are powerless against us. We can take whatever we want, and who can even object?” 

“Because it’s  _ rape!”  _ Charles snapped.

Farouk shrugged. “So?” he asked.

Charles went cold. This was the man he had decided to share his mind and body with. He finished the last few buttons on his shirt and lifted himself into his wheelchair. “This was a mistake,” he said, flatly. 

“I hadn’t expected you to be so  _ uptight,  _ Charles,” Farouk said, getting up. “You’re like me. You’ve seen the darkness and the  _ filth  _ in everyone’s minds your entire life. Why fight it?”

“Because I am not defined by my powers,” Charles said sharply. “I am a thinking being capable of choosing to do the right thing with the power I wield.”

“Are you sure about that?” Farouk said, smirking.

“Yes, damn you!” Charles said, but inside he was thinking of Emma, the cold, sadistic pleasure she had taken in fooling the Russian general and in torturing Erik. Was he destined to be like that, thinking himself superior, taking what he wanted from a helpless populace?

He jerked his wheelchair out of park and hurried to the door. “You can think of me what you want, Amahl, but I will be keeping an eye on you. If you continue to misuse your powers, we will meet again, and I can promise you you will not enjoy it this time.”

Farouk smiled, unpleasantly. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, either.”

“We shall see,” Charles said, flatly. He opened the door and wheeled out.

“Charles!” Farouk called out, grinning. Charles reluctantly turned to look at him. “You’ll never have better than me, you know,” he said.

Charles didn’t dignify that with a response. He slammed the door behind him, and left.

* * *

 

It wasn’t until after the final confrontation with Farouk, until after Charles had rid the world of him once and for all, that Charles realized his persistent nausea wasn’t just psychological, and started to put the pieces together. 

He bought an over the counter pregnancy test and made the cashier forget it ever happened when the woman gave him a strange look. When it tested positive, he bought another one and tried again. Same result.

It wasn’t that he’d never wanted to be a father. He’d  _ always  _ wanted children. And if he had to carry them himself - well, he didn’t like it, but he’d always known it was a risk, even with the hormones. He’d wanted the option, at least. And he knew it didn’t make him any less of a man. If it had been someone else - Logan, even Erik - he thought, he would have coped.

But it wasn’t gruff, kind-hearted Logan, or troubled, well-intentioned Erik. It was a monster, one who reflected a terrible mirror of his own flaws back at him. Worse, it was the only man he had ever killed. 

And at the same time, it wasn’t the child’s fault. Charles had always believed in the inherent goodness of the human soul. He couldn’t believe that the child would be stained by the Shadow King’s evil simply because the monster was its father. All it would need was kindness and support. And who was better equipped to raise a mutant child than Charles himself?

“I’ve been thinking of taking a vacation,” he said to Hank, casually.

“You have?” Hank said, surprised. Charles could hear him thinking  _ I thought he’d never take a day off, he works too hard.  _ “I mean, that’s great! You’ve been looking a little tired lately. It’d do you good.”

“Yes,” Charles agreed. “Greece, perhaps. The Isle of Kirinos. You’d have to take care of the school in my absence, of course.” 

“Of course,” Hank said. “How long are you planning to be gone?”

“Oh . . . nine, ten months, I thought,” Charles said, vaguely.

Hank’s eyebrows went straight up. “That’s - almost an entire year,” he stammered out.

“Yes, a nice long rest,” Charles said, his tone refusing to acknowledge anything odd about his plans. “It’s been far too long since I took a vacation.”

“I - uh - well - I can’t argue with  _ that,  _ but - ”

“Then it’s settled,” Charles said, firmly. “Of course, I’ll write you, and you can hire a few assistants to help you, if necessary.”

Hank frowned at him. “Charles . . . are you . . . okay? Is everything okay?”

Charles smiled at him. “It will be, Hank. I promise.”

Kirinos was beautiful, and to his surprise, Charles found himself enjoying some time to himself. He found a doctor who was paid enough to keep his mouth shut, and who was good at his job. With no one around who knew him, he didn’t have to put as much effort into hiding his pregnancy, and he could focus on taking care of himself. 

He thought about all of the things he could teach his child, all the places he could take them. He thought about how he could give his baby the childhood he never had - loved, accepted,  _ supported  _ for who he or she was. He could be the father he never had.

The birth itself was not an experience he would’ve cared to repeat, but even if his paralysis hadn’t rendered it largely painless, the epidural would have. He slept afterwards, exhausted by the physical effort. 

It wasn’t until after he woke up that the nurses brought him the baby, a boy with blond hair. Charles picked him up, his heart swelling with affection. “He’s really here,” he said, smiling.

“A beautiful baby boy,” the nurse said. “You should be proud, ma’am - I mean - sir.”

Charles ignored this and smiled down at his son. The child opened his eyes - 

And Charles’s heart went cold.

In the baby’s mismatched eyes, he saw the darkness and malice of the Shadow King. The child’s mind itself was innocent, blank of everything but basic instincts - but there was a seed of filth in the corner, a fragment of a nightmare that had somehow escaped its death at Charles’ hands into its own unborn child.

“No,” Charles whispered.

“What is it?” the nurse asked, frowning.

_ Miss me, Charles?  _ said the echo of a voice.

* * *

 

He knew he couldn’t keep the baby. If he did, the fragment of the Shadow King would grow as the child did, and be able to affect Charles and all of the mutants under his care. Charles couldn’t excise the remains of Farouk from his mind, not without hurting his developing mind. He couldn’t even support the child. All he could do was give the child away and hope he would find a way, somehow, to save his own life.

As he laid the child down and left him, he hesitated, and turned back. “I’m sorry, my son,” he said, quietly. “I have failed you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've sat through this nightmare of a fic, please leave a comment, whether you enjoyed it or were, appropriately, horrified by it. Constructive criticism appreciated.


End file.
